Bloody Innocence
by Chibi Cherry Blossoms
Summary: Sirena is a forensic cop who has a dark secret that she must quench every night. Despite the irony, she helps solves cases of criminals, in particular serial killers- just what she craves for. This particular case won't be any different... Right?
1. Blood

_Blood._

The very sound of the word makes people shiver or flinch, mainly because of their dislike for it.

The sight of it is worse, making people turn away, faint, or, in some cases, even puke.

It is this, however, out of some other things, that make me unique.

This very thick, dark colored liquid that so many detest is my very being.

Unlike the others, I crave for it.

I have a great need for it.

_Blood._

The sound, the sight, the feel, the smell, the taste… Everything.

_Blood..._

The crimson red color that people dislike hearing or seeing, the unique smell of metal that can only be made by blood, the feel of blood that is thick and fluid, the taste of blood that is similar to one of iron...

Without it, I wouldn't be able to live.

I often wonder what it would be like if I hadn't discovered what I was… If I hadn't seen what I saw. But then I realize that if I hadn't, I would have no point of living and would be like every other person out there in the world: Lifeless, drained, selfish, docile, humane (if that's what people think humane is, anyway)... I would be just like them.

But I'm not.

If no one knew better, they would call me a monster, sometimes even go further than that to call me _a_ _murderer_.

I could be called a monster, but I like to call myself more like... An artist. Or, one with creative ideas that involve blood, not really a monster but I'd even accept _demon_. No, I'm not a monster per say; I just have cravings just like any other person.

Except, I'm not a person. I'm much more than that.

One could call me a murderer though, I suppose. But am I really a murderer when I'm doing good in the world?

It's difficult what one could call me. I'm an oxymoron, filled with contradictions. But I'm certainly not a person, nor am I a monster.

No, I'm a cop. To be specific, a forensics cop. I help uncover cases that are related to genocide and blood.

There is some irony of what I am, however.

I'm a cop who does good, but am a killer who goes around seeking blood.

Oh yes, I am familiar with the irony of being a vampire.

I do good and help solve crimes, but at night become the murderer that I am, the _artist_ that I am rather. I kill with such efficiency that it is art; it must all be done by a certain ritual, a certain way, or else it's all wrong.

First, I must find a person, man, woman, or even vampire like myself who has done wrong in this pathetic world.

Second, and this is important, I must affirm that they are criminals of any way.

Third, I stalk my prey until they are alone and in a secluded place.

Fourth… Well, I think the picture is seen here. Just thinking of vampires leads us to imagine one clinging onto the neck of another person.

Except, it isn't as simple as it seems.

Biting into others necks causes' suspicion and obvious marks, showing trails that someone had drained their life by biting. It could cause a suspicion of the existence of vampires, which would be bad- the less they know, the better it is for us.

My method is much cleaner, more efficient, and much more _beautiful_.

I like males better than females, mainly because they are more of a challenge.

I tilt their heads back and ask if they know what I am, then I show them my fangs and watch the fear and denial in their eyes. When they respond, or don't respond at times, I pretend I'm about to bite into their necks and instead drag my fangs against their skin, soft enough to not cause obvious signs but sometimes hard enough to draw blood; I don't want to show signs of my being.

By this point, my eyes usually turn from my soft, warm brown eye color to a red brown, one that reminds me of damp cherry tree shavings.

My victim would want to scream, or perhaps even try to struggle, but my strength is much more than a humans and I always gag them, in case they do try to. I always think out my plans ahead of time.

To avoid showing my method of kill, I stab or slash in random places of their body: Head, tongue, shoulder, arm, stomach, back, legs… Anywhere.

I usually try to stab where the arteries are so that it makes it easier for me to drink their blood, but if I don't it doesn't matter; blood is blood. Food is food. Cravings are cravings.

There is more, but I don't wish to give my sacred art secrets away. How am I to know my secrets won't be used for selfish reasons? But more to that, it's more of a surprise anyway...

It's fascinating to watch their bodies that were once fighting against me in fear to grow limp and pale, until finally becoming lifeless.

If I wanted to, I could bring them back to life and become the forever undead. Not vampires like myself, but more like zombies. But that sort of life is torturous, and I hate giving that choice unless it's absolutely necessary. Besides, it would be annoying having to feed them and take care of them like a fucking pet; there are enough of them in the world that it makes me sick.

And yet, even being the artist I am, I cannot bring myself to kill these creatures of the non-living. Despite the hard, heartless being that I am, I cannot dwindle down the numbers of them. It may be because they are the creations of my kind, but even so, I can only kill and drain humans.

_Blood..._

I've had quite a few interesting cases so far, some that intrigued me so that I almost didn't want to kill them, and others that I really didn't want to kill them their art was so well preserved and beautifully done. I've also had obvious killers, and there are few that I made mistakes of.

But very few know of what I am capable of, and even less know of what I am.

And the ones who do know, they're already dead.


	2. Bloodless Crime Scene

I've always been small, or rather _petite_. Small eyes, small mouth, small nose, small boobs, short hair, short body… To put it simpler, I'm just tiny. But I like to call myself 'fun sized' because it doesn't dampen my self esteem as much. Not like it does anyway, but I like to make it seem to others that I actually care. Which I don't.

See, I've always lived this way; accepting who I am and what I am. By this point of my life, though, I just don't give a shit. I have little to no emotion: I'm happy, anxious, curious, horny, or nothing at all. That's it... Well, when I'm 'human' anyway. When I'm myself, I'm just... High. I'm over-run with anxiety, lust, happiness... The typical feelings of an artist who kills people, I suppose.

Why do I mention these random things? Because I tend to garble a lot and make no sense. My sentences tend to be out of place or order, sometimes even short and being nonsense, so I thought I should as well start off by how 'fun sized' I am.

I'm 4' 10 ¾" with brown eyes that are like polished wood (I've been told) and light brown hair that's styled in a 'shag'. (I think that's what they call it.) I have a tattoo of a black widowed spider on its web below the nape of my neck and I have 3 piercings on each of my ears where my earlobes are; my left one has an extra piercing at the top of my ear. I wear size child clothing that can appear to be goth and I always wear converse sneakers with black glasses. The glasses are unnecessary, since I have beyond perfect vision, but I like to seem like I'm not a 14 year old. Which was when I was turned. But I'll get to there eventually. When I feel like it.

I wake up every morning at 6 AM in my tank top and panties, (usually the 'bikini' style; again I think that's what they call it) brush my teeth, take a shower, shake the water out of my hair and towel dry it, (I have no need to brush it since it's so short; I understand why most males usually keep their hair this length or shorter) get dressed in casual clothing, then head to work on my bike.

Every day I go through the same morning routine. It gets boring sometimes, but I like it none the less.

Today was no different.

I decided to wear a black tank top with faded skinny jeans and a light, see through white jacket with my white converse. I rode my bike to work and, as usual, said hello to my fellow cops.

There's Steven, who's my boss and is actually not attractive at all with a balding spot on the back of his head, squinting black eyes, a beer belly, and a terrible habit of smoking, yet still seems to care about all of us.

There's Kayla, who could be called my partner I suppose since she's the one who always calls me when there's a crime scene and I'm needed; she's taller than me (like most people are) with curly brown hair and electric blue eyes, though she always seems to be unsure of her appearance by applying lots of make-up.

There's also Sharon, Shane's daughter, (how I'm not too sure) who's an intern here for the summer and looks nothing like her father: Green eyes, blond hair, freckles, tall and lean, like her mother, I'm guessing. She's only 17, so there's nothing much she could do here but do the paperwork for her father.

There's Rob, who I cannot lie and say I haven't slept with before just because of his looks and sex drive; he's much taller than me and has jet black hair with dark brown eyes and has the body of a body builder. Not very extreme, but enough to make any woman swoon. He works in forensics with me and has his office next to mine.

There's Terri, who used to be a male but had a sex change about a year ago, who I also work with in forensics. She has the broad body of a male but not so much of the muscles anymore; she's become lean over the year and her voice has become more feminine and high pitched. She has a square jaw with brown eyes and short blond hair, and she has a loving partner who has been with her since before the sex change. That's what I call love.

Then, of course, there's my brother, Jason, who has been there to help me countless of times and is one of the only few people who know of what I am capable of. (Not what I am; remember they're dead.) We look nothing alike since I was adopted: Green eyes with brownish, reddish hair and a gorgeous smile. He's much taller than me and everyone loves him due to his fantastic personality. He, dare I say, is probably the typical male every woman dreams about.

There are others who work here with me but I don't feel like elaborating on.

I walked over to the coffee machine and poured myself several cups of coffee, which I drank in a matter of minutes, and felt energized. I nearly skipped to my workplace and placed my tan satchel that I use for work on my desk and jumped on my chair, causing me to slide across to the other side of my 'office square', which was really three desks creating a square around me and separating me from the other 'office squares'. I threw my head back to look at Rob, who was gazing at me with an amused look.

"Another day, isn't it Jail Bait?" he murmured, flashing one of his smiles that makes most women faint. But me.

I sat up and spun in my chair, picking my legs up into an Indian style so it wouldn't stop my spinning. "Yessir, it sure is! But I gotta feeling it's gonna be different today. Yep yep, sure do!"

I suddenly put my feet on the floor to stare at Rob, who was still giving me an amused look.

Rob had given me the nickname 'Jail Bait' because of how young I seemed to be, even though I'm 26. A lot of times, I'm used for undercover work and I pretend to be a teenager, which isn't too hard to do.

"You think so? Hmm… I'm guessing you had a little bit too much coffee today?"

I shook my head fast enough to give myself a slight headache and suddenly stopped to stare at him. "... Maybe... How would you know? Shark."

He laughed at the nickname I gave him when we used to sex partners and shook his head. "I take that as a yes. How many cups did you have?"

I looked up at the ceiling and tapped my index finger on my chin, even though I knew very well how many cups I had. Which was 3. "Mmmm 6... 7...? Perhaps 9...? I don't remember."

Have to keep the clueless façade. Or else they'll get suspicious.

Rob grinned and shook his head again, turning his chair to face his desk. "You're one of a kind, you know that Jail Bait?"

I shrugged and started to nibble on the donut that was on my desk. I used the desk that was separating Rob's and my office space to kick off and moved my rolling chair back to my own and opened a file that was sitting there.

Rodriguez, Gabriella. Age 24. Female. Type O+. She's gone to court for murder, rape, and stealing, but was claimed not guilty each trial. Hm, may have to keep an eye out for this one... If she slips up again...

I licked my lower lip in anticipation.

"Hey, Sirena, I've got a job for you."

I looked up from the file I was looking at to see Kayla grinning like an idiot. She was wearing her officer uniform as usual with her hair tied back into a pony tail. Her eyes had pounds of mascara on with a light purple eye shadow. Curious, I tilted my head to the side.

"Job? What job would this be? I thought I already had a job?"

She rolled her eyes and placed her hands on my desk so she could lean on it. "Just come with me; there's been another crime scene that I think you'd be interested about and I need a forensic to come with me," she murmured loud enough for only us to hear.

I widened my eyes in excitement- if she thought I'd be interested, it must be good.

"Ok, just give me a minute or two," I hummed as I grabbed my bag.

"You're leaving me just like that? I feel so left out," I heard Rob complain next to me.

"Hey, you're coming, too. I think you'd find it intriguing as well." I could hear the smile in Kayla's voice.

I got up just as Rob grabbed his I.D., putting the cord around his neck, and followed Kayla to her car.

I wonder a lot of times if I should get a car, then think about how much of a hassle it would be to have to fill up the car with gas every week or so and to clean it and be careful about damages and such and I suddenly become grateful that I own a bike and not a car.

It took only a matter of minutes to get to the crime scene due to Kayla's speeding (the irony, again, of being a cop but this time on Kayla's part) and walked with her and Rob to where the crime scene tape was.

A buff man was there, making sure no one but the police could access the crime scene. "Hey, are you all cops?"

Kayla rolled her eyes along with Rob while I chirped, "Nope! Forensics!" and I showed my badge to the man. He nodded and let us pass through.

Idiot. He didn't even check if I was a cop. It could have been a fake badge for all he knows. I hate idiots. Especially careless ones.

I continued humming to a random song that I was continuously making up while we walked to where the body was.

I shivered in excitement, wondering what it was this time: Suicide? Genocide? Perhaps a decapitated victim?

But what I saw made me stop in my tracks and stare at the scene in front of me.

The body belonged to a man who seemed to have black hair and was perhaps pale in his early 30's. His body was whole except the neck; it was missing. What amazed me the most, however, was that the body didn't have one drop of blood in it.

It was empty.

I knew this just by looking at it, since I'm an expert when it comes to that anyway and can smell blood miles away.

I stared in disbelief, not believing what I saw. How could someone be able to do this? Unless...

Rob frowned and gazed around the body. "Where's the blood?"

Kayla looked over her shoulder, "There is none; he's completely empty."

I continued staring at the body, debating the idea I had in my head and if not how they would've done it. The work was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. No blood stains, clean cuts... A masterpiece.

I heard Rob whistle next to me. "Damn, looks like we're not needed," he half heartedly chuckled.

Kayla walked towards the neck-less dead man. "No, you are," she half sung, and she kneeled down next to the body. "Take a look at this."

I walked with Rob to kneel next to Kayla. She looked at us then back to the victim to point to his neck. "What can you determine from this?"

Rob, being the better expert of cuts and knives, analyzed the body quickly. "Well, it seems to me that the body must've been decapitated first before the neck was removed. If you look here," he pointed at the diagonal cut at the jaw line, "you could see that the killer had a harder time cutting, while over here," he moved his pointed finger to the nape of his neck, "is smooth, showing he had no difficulty. They might've been alive while the killer was doing this."

I nodded, keeping myself and thoughts quiet.

"But why would they cut out the necks purposely? It doesn't make sense," Kayla murmured.

I continued staring at the victim wondering the same thing. I had a sudden curiosity if there was anything in their mouth. I took out a pair of rubber gloves in my bag and put them on, then reached to open the dead man's mouth.

Kayla looked at me then my hand curiously as I opened his mouth.

Inside, there were no teeth. There were obvious signs that they had been pulled out viciously and without the consent of the owner, who was probably alive during this, also.

There were no teeth at all. Except for two. His upper canine teeth.

I furrowed my eyebrows; why would they not only drain the body and remove the neck but also all teeth but two? No fingerprints, no trace of blood, no DNA that could be shown...

Then, I smiled. This artist, whoever they are, are good.

And I want to play with them.

"What are you smiling about, Jail Bait?" I turned to Rob who was looking at me odd. Not the first time I've had that look.

I smiled wider, "This guy, whoever they are, knows how to piss us off. No blood, barely any teeth… What kind of killer are they?" I sighed, shaking my head, and drew my hand back. "Well, I'm not needed here. There's no blood."

With that I stood up and walked away, taking my gloves off.

This totally made my day. No, more than my day, _my week_. I have a new killer on my list, one who may be like me. The fact that the neck was missing and there were only their canine teeth... I wonder if it's a sign, just for me. No, I shouldn't think like that... They couldn't possibly know...

"Hey! Wait up!"

I stopped and turned around to see a cop I've never met but seen before run up to a woman who was storming away from them. It's amazing how one person can attract the attention of every other person in the area without really trying.

I turned back around sighing and rubbed my pointed chin, using my other arm as a sort of elbow rest.

Of course, the question is who did it, but my main question now was: Why? Why would they put so much effort to put on quite the display? And how?

I felt someone touch my shoulder and I turned my head, displaying a look of confusion. It was, of course, Rob, smiling down at me. "I know; you're disappointed there was no blood."

I sighed, making it seem like I was when in fact I was quite the opposite; I was impressed.

He rubbed my shoulder then to my back, rubbing up and down my spine. "I know how you are with blood, wanting to know exactly what killed them and when. A lot can be said through blood."

I looked back at him to see him gazing at me understandingly, and somewhat longingly. "I'm the same way when it comes to cuts and knives and weapons... I like to know what they used, why, and how."

His lips drew a thin line then. "Those cuts... I honestly don't know what they used. It seemed like it might've been a butcher knife but then I looked again and it seemed like a pocket knife..." He shook his head. "But, how could a pocket knife be able to go through bone? It makes no sense..."

He closed his eyes then, probably to think.

I stared at him for a moment, then decided to speak my mind, "What if they used both of them?"

He opened one eye to gaze at me lazily. "Pardon me?"

I blinked, taking a deep breath, "What if they used the pocket knife at first, then decided to use a butcher knife? It's possible."

He continued gazing at me with his lazy eye for a moment, then opened his other eye in recognizance. "Ohh, I see now... Possibly, it is possible... But... the second cut..."

He took out his camera that was around his neck and turned it on.

I leaned over his arm to see the camera screen.

"See? It's different. Cleaner, smoother... A butcher knife isn't as smooth. What I realized here with the first cut," he showed me the cut at the man's neck, "is that it's rough and ragged first, but becomes smoother towards the end. I agree with what you said about the killer using both knives, I'm just not certain of what ones... I won't be able to know for sure, though until I have the rest of the neck to check."

He sighed again as he turned his camera off. "This guy, whoever he is, is a pain in the ass."

And brilliant, I thought to myself.

"Or she," I pouted, keeping my thoughts to myself. "Don't degrade women, you woman-hating Shark."

He smiled wider this time and wrapped his arm around my waist. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend your race, Jail Bait."

I smiled back and faked a small laugh, leaning onto him. "My race? I think it's my sex."

Rob lowered his eyes and gave a dazzling, lustful look. "Ooo sex... Thinking of which…" He winked at me.

I tilted my head and gave a confused countenance. "I thought you had a girlfriend?"

He rolled his eyes, "She's a fucking idiot. Doesn't know my dick from a fucking door knob." He sighed, "And she's awful at sex. She fakes her orgasms and when she tries to give me a blowjob, it ends up making my boner limp- that's how bad she is."

He sighed again and gave me another lustful look. "So... What do you say we make a lame excuse to have to go to the janitor's closet and fuck each other?"

He's always been one to be horny, outgoing, charming, and a playboy. But I was still 'excited' none-the-less; he is a great sex partner. And the fact he's asking makes me prideful that he thinks I'm good at 'fucking'. It has been a while since I've fucked anybody... I did fuck one of my victims, but it was to see if they were the killer or not. And that was a while ago. A long while ago.

However, I was always the most exposed during sex. A few times, my fangs came out and I nearly bit my sex partners, including Rob, I was so hungry and lust driven.

Still, I returned the look, giving it thought, before I turned my head away to close my eyes and smirk. "It is tempting... We'll have to see, though. It depends if I have work to do or not."

I shrugged and looked back at Rob. "That, and I don't want to ruin your relationship with Samantha."

I remembered he mentioned her name a few times.

Again, Rob rolled his eyes and looked at me hungrily. And not for food. "So? I was planning on breaking up with her soon, anyway. I care about personality and shit but sex is much more important than that to me."

He licked his lips and drew me closer to him, his hand starting to rest on my ass.

I gazed around.

I honestly didn't care if we fucked in public, however society care if they see any sexual interaction and I didn't want unneeded attention and eyes to look at me and memorize my face. What if someone here was a killer?

I sighed in defeat, not to his persistence but at my own horniness, feeling a familiar dampness down below. "Fine, but after work. You can come over to my place."

He grinned and his eyes shone in lust and anxiousness. "Heh, I can _cum_ over at your place?" He emphasized 'cum', turning it into a childish joke.

I pretended not to get it. I tilted my head for a moment, knitting my eyebrows and frowning in puzzlement, then showed recognition a moment later. "Ohh! Oh." I grinned and rolled my eyes. "You really are in a fucking mood, aren't you?"

He gave a toothy grin and squeezed my ass. "Yes; that I am. You would be, too if your girlfriend can't give you a boner and is God awful at sex."

I tilted my head again, giving a curious look. "Still, even if she is that bad..." I interrupted my own thoughts and gave a lopsided grin, "That's still surprising, though; most girls know how and can do whatever the guy in the sex-ship asks them to do."

Knowing I was bi-sexual, he smiled wider if possible, especially at the term 'sex-ship' I had made up a long time ago. "All but this one. Like I said, this girl's a fucking dumbass."

I chuckled and shrugged myself out of his arms, his hand that was on my ass being the last one to leave. "Whatever. See you after work." And I put my hands behind my back, locking them together while I walked back to Kayla's car, whistling a tune I was continuously making up.

This killer, whoever they are... I must find out who they are before the rest do. An artist should be put down the same way they were killed to show respect; cops just let them decompose in jails to die or electrocute them.

No, they should be treated with respect.

I leaned against the car, looking at the reflection of myself in the car door window. It was a transparent reflection, but I was able to see the thoughtful, cruel, blood-thirsty, cunning, artistic vampire that I was, no longer seeing my childish human self.

I will find this artist, no matter what the cost. If they are what I think they are...

The vampire in the window gave a cold, coy smirk, eyes being hard and as cold as their smirk.

They're _mine_.


	3. Bloody Troubles

I sighed in boredom and took out my box of Marlboro cigarettes from my tan satchel, ripped off the plastic covering surrounding it, and took out one slender cylinder of a cigarette to place between my thin lips. I placed the box back into my bag before reaching in again to take out my matches.

I hate smoking. A lot. In fact, I loathe it. I loathe it so much, that I love it.

I feel that if I get addicted to something else, then I won't have to kill all the time for my addiction.

My real addiction.

I feel that it helps me from my monstrosity, if you can call my art that.

As I lit my cigarette, I kept a lazy eye out in the school playground that was less than 50 yards away from me.

There were a whole bunch of kids there, most just under seven years of age, just running around mindlessly, laughing high chimes with such insipid, innocent happiness that rung and echoed against the walls of the school behind them and onto the empty streets and buildings across from them.

I scoffed at what they called 'a playground', which was just an asphalt place that had a half sphere of monkey bars with a broken seesaw and a slide that had caution tape wrapping it like a present.

That's it.

What a pathetic place, I sneered to myself.

I looked back down to my now lit cigarette and took a few puffs to continue the burn before taking a deep breath in with the opposite end of the cigarette slowly crawling towards me in ember red and held the tingling smoke in my lungs for a lingering moment.

I don't need to breathe. My body has been dead for a long, long time. However, despite my body being dead, my nerves still work, my organs still work, and I'm still living in some strange odd vampiric way that reminds me of my old humane habits.

Breathing in a cigarette reminds me that I once lived, and that even though I'm dead, I'm still somewhat alive.

If I wanted to, I could hold my breath for the rest of eternity and let the cigarette smoke linger in me without ever affecting me in any way.

But, it would seem inhuman, and draw attention, so I slowly let it seep out of my lungs, grey-white wisps of smoke covering my face and eyesight for just a brief moment before the soft wind picked it up and cleared it from my vision.

My cunning eyes flickered over the 'playground' again before widening for a slight millisecond in recognition and narrowing to a deadly slit.

A woman with long, black messy but wavy hair, orange-brown tan skin, and blue tank top that was barely able to hold her breasts from popping out and was way too inappropriate for children on that playground with a short jean skirt and stiletto black high heeled shoes walked onto the scene with a snotty look upon her countenance as she gazed around the sea of children running up and down the pathetic scrap of what they called a playground.

But it wasn't that woman I was looking at.

Oh no, I was staring hungrily at the younger woman behind her.

She looked like she was much more appropriately dressed for the children she was taking care of; a short sleeved white polo shirt with jean pants and tan Puma sneakers. She had short, shoulder length black brown hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail with a red, clothe-like scrungï. Her kind eyes and smile looked lovingly at the children that scattered around the ground playing their childish games like the patient Pre-K teacher her profile told her to be.

Anyone would look at her and say she should be praised as a saint, taking care of such young children with patience and kindness beyond any reason and just because she loves them all equally and with such devotion! She should really be the one to have such luxury and tranquility; not that bastard of a principal who owns the school and continues to cut the teachers pay checks! He should be the one to pay, not she!

I tilted my head to one side like the predator I was while bringing the now ¾ cylinder to my lips, breathing in one long stroke of the burning tobacco and drawing back my hand, along with my cigarette, to release once again the long stream of grey-white smoke that drifted with the barely noticeable wind.

No, _she _shouldn't have suffered the death of her mother at such a young age of 3. _She_ shouldn't have suffered the death of her father, just 13 years after the death of her mother. _She_ shouldn't have suffered the verbal abuse she went through when she went to an orphanage in Cuba. _She_ shouldn't have suffered the bitter journey she had to go through, just to live in the States. _She_ shouldn't have suffered the long hardship of divorce, which her husband claimed he had been cheated on when in fact he was the one cheating on her after 4 years of marriage. _She_ shouldn't be the one to live in a shabby apartment, with no children of her own or enough money to even have cable.

No, _she_ shouldn't have suffered through any hardships, because _she_ is an innocent, kind, and loving young woman who deserves the greatest amount of respect.

The woman gave a toothy smile to a young boy who was showing her his latest art, which appeared to be a glob of dirt he found in the broken asphalt with leaves and sticks probing from his hands and dirt.

No, _she_ shouldn't have been trialed for the suspicious death of her father after so many years of him having the terrible flu that was killing so many already in Cuba, or for the crimes she committed when she was in the orphanage, fighting that she was only trying to get food since the other orphans wouldn't give her any, along with the verbal abuse.

The other slutty woman had claimed their child and was ranting something in Spanish to the iPhone at her ear while dragging her daughter by the wrist with such force the child was raised upward and tripping over herself just to keep up with the pace of her, who appeared to be her, mother.

Why would _she_ be accused for raping the children at the school she works for, when they so adoringly love her and look up to her?

The slutty woman stopped for a moment to speak with the teacher, again in Spanish, while the child seemed thankful for the short time she had to try and escape her mothers' grasp to be in her teachers' arms.

Why would _she_ have been trialed for something as insipid as murder, when it was obviously done by her husbands' brother, who wanted the money their father claimed to have (but turned out he didn't have) after his death?

The teacher spoke to the woman calmly, responding in Spanish, and noticed her student trying to escape her mothers' grasp but made no move to help her and looked back to the woman with an unsteady eye.

Yes, why would she?

Before the child could slip her mothers' grip, the slutty woman once again tugged on her child's wrist, getting a loud cry in return, yelled at her child, and turned away from the teacher.

Why would Gabriela Rodriguez be claimed to have done these things, and get away with a clean slate, hm?

I didn't fail to miss the grim, calculated look she gave the woman as she walked away.

The look of a skilled killer.

. . .

Pausing in front of the door to my apartment with my bike at hand, I struggled to get my keys out of the bottom of my satchel. Mumbling curses under my breath about how careless and insipid I was to place them at the bottom of the bad instead of the pocket in the inside of the bag, I finally found them, the cold, sharp yet dull metal poking my skin, and took them out, looked at each key individually for my apartment key, and after looking at 3 out of the 5 keys I found it and left the others dangling at the bottom of the loop, creating a metallic clinging sound all too familiar, and opened the door with barely any ease as I had to push on the door harshly before walking in and closing the door.

"Hey, Jason," I huffed as I locked the door again, leaning all my weight onto the door to get it shut all the way.

I sighed deeply as I threw my satchel onto the table nearest to me and walked towards the living room/dining room was and flopped myself onto my couch, landing on my back just as Jason was walking from the kitchen that was jointed to the living room. "How did you know I was here?" he asked amazed. "I didn't even make a sound."

I sighed and draped my arm over my eyes. "Yeah you did. You do breathe, don't you?"

He paused for a moment before sighing and sitting near my head was, feeling my head lower from the rest of my body from his weight.

We stayed there in silence; me lying on the couch with one arm over my face and my shins and feet dangling from the arm of the sofa and Jason sitting there next to me, breathing steadily yet heavily.

"What's wrong?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

I felt him jump at this question, not the sound of my voice. "What do you mean? I mean... Why do you ask that?"

I sighed deeply and stayed quiet for a moment before I answered him. "You sneak into my apartment without contacting me first, you didn't argue with me when I said you were breathing noisily, you're unusually quiet, and the most obvious," I removed my arm, placing it on my forehead instead, and opened my eyes to look up at him, "you're extremely anxious. I can hear it as clear as thunder."

It was true. His heart rate was thumping away, having a little marathon of its own while his breathing was also abnormally hard.

He smiled sheepishly, "Ah, is that so...? Ha, well..." He turned away and chuckled. "I supposed you're going to want to hear it now, right?"

I gave him a blank stare and blinked. He sighed and turned his head away from me.

It wasn't for a few moments later that he finally told me.

"I think I'm going to break up with Clarisse."

I stared at him a little longer before sighing and resting my forearm on my eyes again.

Clarisse was a brunette woman with freckles painted all along her cheek bones, shoulders, chest, and upper arms and dark brown eyes. Her very features seemed to contradict her; tan skin, small eyes, long hair, short body... She screamed paradoxes with her European first name and Latin last name, her English major and heavy accent...

I hated her. She seemed cheerful and appeared to be patient and delightful, but underneath that demeanor I knew she wasn't who she said she was; I could smell when someone was faking, quite literally, and with her, I knew who she was, and wanted her to keep a hell of a distance away from my brother.

Jason was kind natured, caring, loving... He'd throw himself in front of a train for the ones he loved, which is one of the reasons why everyone loved my brother. He always had something to give, whether it be advice, clothes, a shoulder, a hand. Even money. Which is why I distrusted his 'loving' girlfriend.

She, I knew, smooched off of him, due to her lack of cash and possession. She acted caring and charismatic but deep in her I could feel her inner demon wanting to come out; her true personality; her true evil.

And for that, I hated her for. The fact that she came to him with nothing and now has everything... Saying I hated her was an underestimation; I _loathed_ her.

"Why're you breaking up with her?" I murmured, not wanting to show Jason my pleasure in hearing the news.

I felt him shift slightly, then say, elongating the words to sound like a long yawn, "Well, she doesn't seem like the person she used to be." I felt him shift back to his original position after stretching and heard him sigh.

I refused to let my thoughts be heard.

Instead, I appeared oblivious, "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, don't sound stupid, Angie," he scolded me, and I winced at my first name. "We both know that she isn't who she says she is... Or rather was..."

Coming from the person who didn't know he was dating a bitch in the first place. What would that be called? Ironic?

I growled noisily and gave Jason an evil eye.

He sighed. "Sorry, sorry, I know you don't like that name..."

I snorted and scooted to rest my head on the side of his leg, closing my eyes again.

He sighed again. "Why can't you just... I don't know... Change your name if you don't like it that much?"

Knowing he was changing the subject on purpose, I stayed silent.

I hate my name. Loathe it. More than cigarettes and smoking. More than fake people. More than Jason's soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, Clarisse. More than the man who turned me into what I am; more than my creator.

It was my foster mother who gave me my name.

Originally, it was just Sirena; my real mother didn't give me a last name. Why? Who knows. Not even my foster parents knew. All they knew was that it would make a glorious middle name and so my first name was changed to Angela, and I was Angela Sirena Sharpe.

I used to like my name, back when I was human. I was called 'Angie', for short. But, that was up until I was changed into the artist I am now. Now I despise my name. It's like a paradox, my being and my name. I'm no 'angel'; not anymore. I'm more of a siren who lures sailors into her depths of despair, using her charm and beauty and voice to trick them into coming with her then killing them after her fun.

Sirena… It's like my mother knew I was to become immortal, to feast on humans until the end of time, using my charm and wit to lure them to their deaths…

I've thought about just changing it. But then I lose the only human thing that is left on me. My name. My first name… My foster parents, who loved me more than my first ones, gave me that name. The name that was loved…

I refuse to change the one thing they gave me that will never wither and die.

After a moment, when he sighed, signaling that he was giving up the fight, I spoke again, "What gave you the suspicions that she changed?"

I felt him shift, again, forward and pause before answering me, "Lately... She's been... I don't know how to say this... Acting odd. Like, she says one thing but she doesn't sound like she means it, or that she's really for it... I don't know; maybe I'm just being a little more suspicious than usual but-"

"That's not the real reason you want to break up with her though," I interrupted, opening one eye to look at him, "is it?"

He stared at me open mouthed, and slowly he closed it and swallowed whatever saliva was in his throat. I stared right back, but with a more serious glance that gave me somewhat of a poker face.

"You're right," he said finally. "It isn't."

I blinked my one eye and opened both of them this time, giving him a blank glare to continue.

He swallowed hard and looked at his folded hands that smelled terribly of sweat.

I stared at him unblinkingly for a long, long time; the way his hair was somewhat shaggy, in need of a haircut, and in front of his eyes, which were hard in thought, his stooped shoulders, his worried countenance, his hanging head, his casual black and slim shirt, which was tight around his upper arms and strong chest, his khaki work jeans…

He took a deep breath, and I stared patiently.

"Clarisse... She thinks you're odd."

I scoffed, "That's not the first time I heard something like that."

He shook his head, nervousness oozing from his movements. "It's... It's not that type of odd. It's..."

He gave a shuddered sigh as I blinked slowly, giving him a blank stare that was slowly growing impatient.

He gazed at my countenance quickly before turning away to look at something to his left, twiddling his thumbs.

My upper lip twitched with annoyance. Despite how much I love and adore my brother, he always reminds me that he's human, deliberately not wanting to speak out his mind in fear of hurting me or making me act rash. Which has never happened... Recently.

"Spit it out," I growled under my breath, closing my eyes as he finally sputtered the words he'd been keeping from me.

"She suspects you to be something unreal."

My eyebrows twitched downward. "What do you mean by... 'Unreal'?" I murmured slowly.

"I think you know exactly what I mean by that."

I opened my eyes to look upward towards my brother, who was gazing downward with a solemn, grim look to his countenance.

I blinked slowly before sighing and lifting my chin upward so that my head was against his leg. "And how would she know about this? I trust that you didn't say anything, and there's no way she could've seen me since I was 14."

I looked back down to shut my eyes and squirmed a little to get myself more comfortable, moving mostly the lower half of my torso and my bum as I heard Jason sigh.

"She said she's able to feel you... How... Different, you are... So to speak..."

I rolled my eyes under my lids. "Ohhh I'm so scared," I murmured under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear my sarcasm. "I'm shitting bricks now..."

"I'm serious Ang-" I opened one eye to glare at him and he corrected himself, "Sirena," I closed my eye, "I'm worried about you. She talks about having these abilities to be able see the unnatural, like ghosts and such, and she believes that you're not human..."

I opened the same eye to look up at him lazily. "She thinks I'm a ghost?" I murmured bored, still not thinking she could seriously have that type of power.

He sighed quickly and exasperatedly, "Sirena! Right now is not a time for you to be sarcastic and oblivious! She knows things that I never told her; she knows that you're adopted, she knows our parents died, she knows how they died, she knows about your smoking habits, which I never breathed a word about-"

I closed and rolled my eyes again, thinking how he was getting rather irrational now.

"-she knows about our history, about your past boyfriends, she knows you're not 22-"

I yawned. I mean, really, I didn't like her, but she definitely cannot be this talented...

"-and that she knows your secret-"

I rolled my eyes behind my eyelids.

"-and how you're acting to get prey or something-"

My eyes flew open at that.

"-and she just knows that you're not human. And I didn't tell her _anything_; nothing at all! She just... knows! You have all of my stuff that proves any of this, so you know that she couldn't have researched it... I don't know, Sis, I think she's the real shit, and it scares the fucking hell out of me."

I stayed quiet for a moment, thoughts buzzing in my head. How could she know about what I am? No one knows, not even Jason; the only ones who did know died because _I_ killed them. How is possible that she might know?

Or... Perhaps... There are more 'unreal' people like myself...

"Sirena...?"

I blinked and looked up at Jason.

His countenance pleaded what he was going to ask next, his eyes begging for help: "What do you think?"

I lifted my upper body to lean on my elbow closest to the back of the sofa and stared at Jason emotionlessly; what _do_ I think?

I think she's an imposter; she's just guessing and is lucky. But how could she have guessed those few facts correctly? It sounds like there are a lot that she 'knew' and got lucky on. But even then... Perhaps there was another way…

Jason had spoken of where she worked before... Where was it again…?

I saw that my brother was waiting patiently, but he was about to speak again.

"I'm not sure what to think," I mused softly, speaking the truth. I paused for a moment to process the information that seeped through my mind. "You're sure she hasn't seen any of our files and that you didn't speak of any of this in front of her?"

He nodded, keeping his statuette stern but showing concern. "Positive."

I pursed my lips and stared blankly at him for a moment.

Why can't I think of the place Jason had mentioned once before...?

After a pause, I asked him a question, "And this is the reason why you want to break up with her?"

He paused for a moment, slowly moving forward before nodding again.

I kept that emotionless, blank stare at him, not letting any of my thoughts seep through my countenance, as I thought hard of all the conversations we've had before...

After another pause, I asked a different question, "Is that the only reason why you're breaking up with her?"

He narrowed his eyes for a moment in suspicion as he nodded again after an elongated pause.

I continued to stare at him, slightly surprised that he wasn't getting uncomfortable by my gaze, as my gears continued turning and turning…

"Can you stay with her a little longer?"

He stiffened for a moment, probably wondering where I was going with that question, then nodded slowly.

I tilted my head downward and thought for a moment more before I nodded in such a manner that it seemed like I was waking myself up from dozing off. "Stay with her for just a bit longer," I ordered, "as I try to figure this out."

He looked at me incredulously. "You're not serious."

I blinked, tilting my head to the side.

He half sighed, half groaned and brought one hand to rake his perfect hair. "Please tell me you're not going to stalk her or something."

Damn. Straight on...

"Now why would I do something like that?" I asked slightly amused, looking at him from an angle. I felt like a tiger eying its prey, with the prey not being one I turn to a masterpiece.

He groaned and leaned half his body to the back of the sofa. "Oh dear God. Okay... Okay, look, promise me you won't do that, alright? Please, promise me?"

I gave him a cunning look. "And if I don't?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "I swear to God, Angie, I'll never call you Sirena again."

I winced at my nickname and growled softly. Damn, he's got me there...

I sighed in defeat and grumbled, "Fine," before I turned away pouting, not showing he plan I had come up with in mind.

He sighed, "Good... But, why should I keep being with her? What's your plan?"

I looked back at him, still pouting, and thought of my real plan before I told him my simple one, "I'm going to see how she's making those predictions. I think she's just getting lucky with them, but I'm not too certain now... You have to stay with her, though, for me to find out, alright? Just trust me on this."

He opened his mouth to eject against my plan before I interrupted him (ironic) and he shut it again, contemplating my plan.

I rethought the one thing that had been gliding in and across my mind for the longest time now and kept my countenance blank but determined.

He sighed in defeat, and I felt some glory crawl into my chest as I found victory. "Fine, but how are you going to find out?"

I contemplated this, or at least looked like it, as I found an answer, "I'm going to ask her out for some night out, perhaps at a club or something, and just ask her some questions. If I'm lucky, I'll get her drunk and get some answers."

I smirked as he grimaced at my last suggestion. "Please don't get her drunk; that's rather crude..."

I laughed and turned my upper body half way around to crawl next to my brother and cuddle against him. "It might be the only way to get answers... I'll try not to though, alright?"

He sighed and wrapped a brotherly arm around my shoulder. "Yeah, I suppose so... Fine, it's a done deal. I'll stay with her until you figure out what's going on, kapeesh?"

I nodded like the fake, innocent person I played to be around other people and snuggled in closer. "Did I tell you that you look absolutely sexy today?"

He sighed, "No, but you did say that to me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before... I'm starting to think you want to have sex with me."

I laughed at that thought, though it has passed my mind more than just a few times. "I don't think I ever could; it'd be too awkward."

He shivered at that thought, "For fucking real... Thinking of sex, you seriously need to stop sleeping around."

I gazed up at him with an innocent look. "Who told you that I was sleeping around?"

It was his turn to give me blank stare.

I pouted again and squirmed to get closer. "I feel like I'm being judged wrongly..."

"Well, you are; you might get AIDS or something..."

"You do realize that you're saying this to person that hasn't aged in 8 years."

"Well, you never know; maybe undead people can get AIDS."

I scoffed, "You haven't seen me get sick in 8 years; what makes you think I'm going to catch a virus?"

I felt him shrug, "I don't know; we're still learning more about what you are..."

You're still learning; not me.

And the memory came to me then, and I thought of acting on it.

"True, very true," I mused, "but now isn't exactly the time to do so." I sat up and looked at his now disheveled hair and un-amused countenance. "I hope you don't mind, but I have been working all day and you did catch me off guard..."

He smiled a toothless grin. "Yeah I'm sorry about that," he said, dragging the 'ah' in the beginning of his sentence. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stood up. "I just felt that it was important to talk to you as soon as possible... I didn't disrupt any of your plans, did I?"

I shook my head, "Nope, not at all. Though you did catch me off guard." I stuck my tongue out at him playfully, acting like the loving sister I couldn't be.

He smiled a toothy grin then and grabbed his jacket that was on the table next to the sofa near him. "I did, didn't I? Ah, well, shit happens I suppose, right? Oh!" He turned back to me with a sudden realization on his countenance. "I saw you had a bit of a mess on your desk today, so I fixed it up a little after you left. I didn't want the boss chewing on your ass so..."

And there he is again, being the kind human that he is. And it is this kindness that causes me to like him, not just because he's my 'brother'. I gave him a believable smile, "Aww, thanks! I didn't think it was messy, but oh well!" I laughed.

He gave me a look that disapproved of my 'messy nature', but he shook his head and chuckled.

Jason stayed for just a bit longer and I brewed tea for him before he finally gathered his things and left for the night.

Before he left, however, he made sure to confirm one more thing:

"Sirena?" he asked suddenly serious. "I want to make sure you're not going to stalk her or something... Promise me, swear to me, you're not going to do anything to her. Swear to me, right now."

I stared into his eyes for just a moment. If only he knew... How masterful I am at that... Of how good I am at creating a fake image, and going around my promises...

"You have my word."

And as he walked away in satisfaction, I thought of the store that Jason had mentioned once before that was on 8th street. The memory came back in mind:

"_She should really quit at that store... It's ruining her image..."_

"_Just because she's proud of her work doesn't mean that she's into porn..."_

"_Well, they did give her a raise at Daisy's... Hopefully she'll be able to pay her mortgage bills, now, and afford to quit her job."_

A porn shop. That's right.

How suiting for his slutty girlfriend.

I grinned at that, and thought hungrilly of how she would taste if she was screaming in pain.


End file.
